


Sugar and Spice

by SilverRoseofLight



Category: OFF (Game)
Genre: Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gen, The Elsen are too cute, critic burnt, not quite an elsen oc
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-02-28 23:20:52
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,545
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23185420
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SilverRoseofLight/pseuds/SilverRoseofLight
Summary: Wherein the Player is a rather young girl unfortunate enough to believe that the game was indeed "a nice game for cute children", and an Elsen friend is made.
Relationships: Elsen & The Player, The Batter & The Player
Comments: 3
Kudos: 59





	Sugar and Spice

**Author's Note:**

> Crossposted in Quotev

The Purifier's visage grows monstrous before their eyes. He bellows, a guttural cry of betrayal and frustration. It shatters his Add-Ons, the halos fracturing and scattering into nothing.  
  
Then he lowers his head towards she who is his Player no longer, and he charges.  
  
Faith bows her head in quiet resignation, and shuts her eyes tight.

~ ~ ~

He doesn't remember what led to it.

Surely, he must have been stressed. So stressed, so overworked, so sad that he felt like the best choice of action was to down all his sugar at once.

Obviously, it was not.

But it must have felt so at the time, and because why else would he have eaten it all at once, disregarding the knowledge that he'd have no more after it? 

( _Or maybe he did know. Maybe he did and that's why he ate it all to cope for a moment and why he headed to the monorail after-)_

There was no other worker willing to spare him their sugar. They weren't willing. The specters weren't either. The former he stumbled away from. The latter. . .he has a recollection of the monorail tunnel being full of ghouls before he burnt. He supposes that if he ever did one good thing in the world, it was clearing the tracks of them.

He remembers the fear, the sadness, the despair. The happy glaze of sugar had left him then, and his body twitched from the need for more. But there was no more. He wandered aimlessly, the agony of withdrawal growing with each passing moment.

He remembers the Savior finding him in his sorry state, and the panic bursting from within him in the form of smoke that enveloped his head.

 ** _HELP_ **hecried, for the burning to end.

 _ **HELP** _he pleaded, for the pain to end.

 ** _HELP_ **hebegged, for it all to end.

He felt hurt, hurt from the smoke churning within and the deprivation of sweet sugar and the blows that fell upon his body.

**_HELP_ **

**_HELP_ **

**_HELP_ **

As his stamina dwindled, he felt something else. A tiredness. A sweet, soothing kind of tiredness almost like sleep despite the pain. He welcomed it. Then-

Then the assault stopped. 

Voices broke out in an argument. The words didn't reach him, but the voices did- one deep and monotone yet laced with displeasure, the other soft and light and strained. After a hours or days or seconds, the Batter disappeared from his vision. In his place was small figure clad in a skirt and a sweater, her cupped hands lifted towards his smoke-swelled head.

"P-please," she said, voice trembling desperately. "Please, just a bit- you have to eat it, y-you _have_ to . . ."

The words didn't reach him any better than her previous did, but he caught the scent of sugar. (He'd learn later that she had bought it from Zaccharie, that she had offered all her credits for that mound of sugar in her palm.) Somehow, he lowered his head enough for her to tip the sweet crystals into his mouth. 

Sweetness clouded his senses once more as the smoke left his body. He crumpled to his knees, happy and sugar-high. As he sighed blissfully, he felt something press against him. The something was small and warm and wrapped its arms around him. He blinked, gaze out-of-focus. The something was the small figure, and as she buried her face in his chest he became vaguely aware of his shirt getting dampened by tears.

The Elsen looked up absently and saw that the Savior standing before them. His dark eyes were narrowed as they stared down at him. If he were more lucid, perhaps the Elsen would've been terrified. With a final disdainful look, the Batter spun on his heel and entered the tram.

The something-child kept hugging him after the Batter left. When she stopped, she gently tugged him along to the tram. 

"I see the sugar worked," hummed a different voice. The Elsen traced it to a cat-masked figure. He recognized it as the merchant Zaccharie's.

"Thank you," said the child in her soft, sweet voice. Then hesitantly, "Could I buy more sugar?"

Her money, she had offered it all, but Zaccharie wasn't without mercy. 

The merchant tilted his head. "Are you certain _?_ " 

She had just discovered the sugar's secret, the Elsen would learn. She had screamed and cried into the Batter's side, shaking and trembling, because the sugar was made out of people.

Her warm little hand let go of his and disappeared into her sleeve. "I. . .I can help him. My daddy. . .he liked to smoke- he got himself to stop, but he couldn't do it right away. . .besides, the sugar's been made already, hasn't it?"

The Elsen frowned a little as he saw something red bloom from where her nails were buried. He didn't think it looked right.

With a resigned chuckle, the merchant drew a pouch of sugar from who-knows-where. "Very well, _mon petit caneton._ We're already off-script anyways."

That transaction done, the child invited the Elsen to sit on the seat, and seeing the Batter intent on standing with his arms crossed, she sat between the worker and the merchant.

"Once," said the Batter. His eyes, piercing and narrow, bore into the child's. "This once only, and if he turns-" 

"He won't," she said, soft gray eyes meeting his. "He won't and I-I won't get in the way again. Promise."

The Savior's hard gaze lingered for a moment longer, then turned to the way the tram was heading.

The child's turned to the Elsen. She gently reached over and squeezed his hand. "Can you. . .can you understand me?"

He blinked slowly and looked at her. So small. So sad. 

"I'm going to try and help you, okay?" She gave him a small smile. "I'm going to help you stop needing sugar, so this doesn't happen again. Do you get what I'm saying?"

Help, his fuzzy, sweetened mind thought. He had asked for help. . . His eyes drifted to the tiny hands holding his. The red was gone, buried by the long sleeves of her sweater. It was soft. He squeezed back, hand curling around the soft sweater fabric. He had asked for help. She wanted to help.

"Okay," he said, and she beamed.

~ ~ ~

The child is named Faith. 

She calls him Marshall. She calls him that because she says that she used to have a rabbit named Marshmallow that he- shy and snowy and quiet- reminds her of, and she calls him Marshall instead of Marshmallow because she thinks it would be weird to give the Elsen the same name as a dead bunny.

Elsen don't have names. He thinks he had an id number, but being burned seemed to delete it from his memory. 

So Marshall is his name now. It's not so bad. He kind of likes it.

~ ~ ~

Faith holds true to her word.

She gives him sugar, but only when he absolutely needs it, when his head starts to pound, and each time she gives him a little less. It's just enough to stop most of the pain, to keep him from smoking. Whenever it still hurts she hugs him tight and tells him it's okay and he'll be okay over and over. At some point, he starts hugging her back, and maybe it's just the association, but he comes to think of it as sweet even when the sugar melts away. 

She is sweet actually, with her tiny smile and tight hugs and rare tinkling laughter. It's feels like warm syrup in his chest, even if he hasn't eaten any sugar. It's not a bad feeling, just different. A nice different.

She's happy when he finally stops needing sugar. She 's even happier when he asks to still follow them.

The Savior looks less than pleased at the development, but stays silent nonetheless.

~ ~ ~

Marshall tries not be a burden.

He keeps up with their pace. He tells them the answers and combinations he still knows. He helps Faith carry things. 

But they have no real reason to keep him. He has no excuse why he should stay. 

He's an Elsen, he's a worker. He was made to labor away in Zone 3 forever. But now-

Now Zone 3 is meaningless. More and more Elsen are becoming Burnt or slain by specters and their jobs amount to nothing in the end.

~ ~ ~

It's an interesting thing, their battles.

Its probably not the right reaction to seeing the Batter beat spectral and physical beings alike into nonexistence, but it's still morbidly fascinating.

There the Batter stands, the pinnacle of purity, a relentless force against his adversaries. The Add-Ons surround him, echoing his mission, shining like the halos of angels. Energy bursts from his blows, from the rings' blasts, resonating with the elements-

And there Faith stands, pulling the strings with silent commands amidst the chaos. Her fingers tap across a strange display that flickers in and out of his vision, and she never looks up. She isn't near the battle, but she isn't far either. When an attack does come too close, an Add-On swings by to absorb the impact before it can reach her. She is unfazed by it all, and there is something about her dissonant serenity that's as gripping as the Batter's strength and agility.

And Marshall watches. He just watches. It comes to a point when he can guess what they'll do next, when an item is needed, when the Batter must dodge and when an Add-On must come to protect Faith. He stays out of the battle and watches passively as he's done since he joined them. There isn't much else he can do. Not that he's sure he can do without messing up anyway.

Then during a battle he sees a burst of energy rushing towards Faith. Omega is hurtling towards her, but he can see- _oh_ he sees he knows it won't reach her in time and-

And he runs.

He runs and grabs her and yanks her away, the attack barely missing them. Faith's focus breaks, shock replacing her calm as they tumble to the ground. Omega hovers near them in confusion and impatience before Faith sends it back into battle as she stands. Marshall lies on the ground, staring blankly at the ceiling as adrenaline or its Elsen equivalent drains from him. He breathes in and out, in and out, slowly the way Faith told him to. He doesn't register when the battle ends, but when it does Faith's face peers into his.

"Marshall?" she asks timidly. "Are you okay?"

"I-I'm. . .okay." He slowly unglued himself from the floor. "A-re you?"

"Thanks to you I am!" She smiles bright as she hugs him. "You saved me!"

He squeaks a little at the suddenness of the gesture, her words still ringing in his head. 

_You saved me!_

He. . .he saved. . .her? Did he- did he really?

Then the Batter strides up to them, and they proceed.

(Later, when they stop to rest and Faith's asleep, the Batter turns to him. For a moment, there is nothing but unnerving silence. Then, ever so slowly, the Batter speaks.

"Thank you," he says. The voice is monotone, it always is, but there's genuine gratitude in it, and in his eyes is something like respect. "Watch her again."

The Batter stands before the Elsen can respond, then walks away.)

~ ~ ~

From that moment on, Marshall stays by Faith's side.

He has a mission now, after all. And perhaps it is not as sacred as the Batter's, and perhaps it is of no consequence in the end.

But to the Elsen whom she saved and named and befriended, it is everything.

It is his purpose.

He will watch her. He will guard her. He will protect Faith.

~ ~ ~

"Do you hate me?" Faith asks him once, when they're hidden away in a corner, sitting side by side while the Batter strikes away at a Burnt.

Marshall blinks at her. She asks him how he feels a lot. It's not a question he's used to answering. He's not used to answering a lot of questions unrelated to work. He's gotten better at it to be sure, but he still feels like he's complaining when he does and he doesn't like that. Enoch doesn't care for complaints. Elsen who complain never come back. Faith's not Enoch. She's small and warm and sweet. She likes knowing what he thinks, how he feels. She's nice. He likes her. 

"No," he says. "Then, a little alarmed, asks "Do you think I hate you?"

She shrugs. "I don't know. I feel like you should."

"Why?"

"I saved you. But I'm not saving them. I'm letting him kill your friends."

"They aren't my friends. We only worked together." Marshall fidgets with his necktie. "I. . . I don't really _know_ them." He's spent his whole life with those workers yet Faith probably knows more about him than they do. Not that there was much to know. . .

"Oh." 

"I don't hate you," the Elsen says, and carefully places his hand on hers. It seems to calm her a little. He doesn't know why but it always does. "You're nice. You help people."

"But I'm not," she murmurs, hands disappearing into her sleeves. "I'm not helping them- I don't even know if I can." 

He doesn't say anything. His burning was different. He was overwhelmed, but he didn't lose his head. It's not because of sugar or lack of it- Elsen don't need sugar to be burnt, and Calvary-burnts and Pastel-burnts get burnt even with it. He doesn't know how he was able to keep his head and call for help. He just knows that he did, that it was different, and that none of the other Elsen burnt like he did.

The silence between them is shattered by the cry of the Burnt the Batter defeats.

"I don't hate you," Marshall tells her again, just before the Savior steps into view.

The man's clothes should be smoking. Bloody. But the striped uniform is pristine as the bright Add-ons behind him.

 _Let's go_ , he says, without saying anything at all.

Marshall stumbles to his feet and helps Faith up. The child goes to the cleared room and doesn't look at the empty, smoke-stained clothes or the blood splatters. She glances at her companions, the Elsen on her left and the Batter on her right, then proceeds.

~ ~ ~

Faith is sweet, but also sad. 

She's sad a lot, and she doesn't tell him why. Sometimes she cries.

(Marshall isn't prepared for crying. He doesn't know if Elsen can even cry. The first time she cried he thought she was burning and he quickly hugged her and told her that it's okay and that she'd be okay again and again and almost panicked himself because he didn't know what else to do. It had shocked her, made her stop crying and it was the first time he ever heard her laugh. It's a pretty sound, nothing like Enoch's. He wishes she'd laugh more.)

Marshall wonders if it's his fault because she's so concerned about him. 

She looks at him so worriedly, even when he doesn't need sugar anymore. She always asks him if he's hurting. She's afraid that if he burns again, she won't be able to help him and it will be her fault.

He wonders too, if it's because of the Batter.

~ ~ ~

The Batter, the Purifier, the Messiah.

He's strong. And violent. Quite frankly, the Elsen's terrified of him. He purifies without mercy, striking down Spectre and Burnt (and soon, Guardian) alike with the same relentless determination. Sometimes Marshall catches himself staring at the bat in the purifier's hands, astounded at the lack of blood against the smooth wood.

The Batter is unbreakable, unstoppable.

And yet, he bends to Faith's will. He can't go anywhere unless she wants to. She handles their credits and items. The Batter may be the one talking and solving codes and puzzles but it's because his Player tells him to talk and tells him the answers. Even in battle, she directs him to do the bloody deeds. He is a doll to her, a puppet to her whims and decisions. 

But that's only when she's willing to exert them.

More and more often, she's been leaving the Battles to something called Auto. She'll turn away from the violence with eyes squeezed tight and her hands over her ears. Marshall comes to stay with her at these times, keeping her company while the Batter fights on. Sometimes, she won't move even with a Spectre close and the Elsen has to carry her up and run away. The Savior gives them an inscrutable look each time a battle's won before waiting for Faith to rise and guide them to the next step.

The Batter listens to Faith because she is his Player. He needs her to continue his holy mission.

Marshall can't help but dread what might happen when he doesn't need her anymore.

~ ~ ~

Marshall follows them to places he was never meant to see. Enoch's office, the Nothingness, and the Room.

The Guardian falls and his kingdom with him.

The Nothingness is so different, yet so alike to what the Zones are now.

The Room is the beginning, and the end.

He knows now, the meaning of purification. The mission. The nothingness.

And maybe. . .

Maybe, as they approach the Queen,

Maybe it's better that way.

~ ~ ~

It is a hard battle that itemless Auto cannot win, and when the Queen falls, so does Faith.

She crumples up into a tiny ball, sobbing her heart out as she stares at what was once the Queen. "I don't want to do this anymore," she cries. "I don't want to fight anymore. I don't- I-I-!"

The Batter stands before her, unmoving and uncaring. It's clear that to him, she's just whining. At a length however, he says, "I must complete the mission."

"There's nothing left!" she screams at him. "No Guardians, no Queen, no Spectres! Nothing!

"It does not end with the Queen," the Batter replies, "It ends with Him."

Faith stares up at the Batter, eyes wide with horror, for they had all traversed the Chapters and learned of it all. The only other being who had been present since the beginning, the one whose voice resounded through the scribbled notes on the walls, the boy whom Faith saw between the end of each Zone and the Nothingness in flickering red visions- he was all that remained aside from the cat and the merchant.

"No . . .no!" Faith stands. "He's just a baby!" 

"His sickness is the cause of the land's, " says the Batter. "It must end."

"There is nothing left to save!" 

"And yet something remains to be cleansed."

Faith stares at the Batter, the Savior, and her eyes are filled with hate and sadness as she stands. "I won't let you," she says, and Marshall sees the Batter's grip tighten on his bloody bat.

"You are the Player," he says, "You must lead."

"I have," Faith says, "But I won't anymore."

"I _will_ complete my mission." The Batter's voice is low as he speaks, it is a threat and yet, somehow, there is the subtlest hint of a plea in it. He will complete his mission, no matter the adversary.

"I know," she replies, and stays rooted where she stands. "But I refuse to do nothing."

The Batter clenches his teeth and his grip grows so strong that it snaps his bat. 

The Purifier's visage grows monstrous before their eyes. He bellows, a guttural cry of betrayal and frustration. It shatters his Add-Ons, the halos fracturing and scattering into nothing.  
  
Then he lowers his head towards she who is his Player no longer, and he charges.  
  
Faith bows her head in quiet resignation, and shuts her eyes tight.

~ ~ ~

Marshall sees the Batter come, and fear fills him. But not for himself.  
  
It is for the child that stands before him, for the child who bought him sugar and cared and hugged him, for child who saved him. And with that fear smoke bursts from within him, pouring from his lips and blinding the Batter. He moves with speed he didn't know he had, Faith wrapped in his arms.  
  
"Let me go!" she cries, trying to squirm free. "Let me go! You don't deserve to die too!"  
  
The Batter shakes himself free of the black substance and charges once more. Without thinking, the Elsen raises his hand against the monster. It is then that he realizes his arm is black.  
  
Burning. He's burning.  
  
Thick, tarry smoke rushes from clawed fingertips and weaves into a valzong symbol, sending their attacker flying.  
  
Faith stare at him with wide eyes "Marshall. . ."  
  
He is burning.  
  
He is afraid.  
  
Yet he keeps his head.  
  
"Thh. . .tell me," he rasps, smoke wisping from his lips. "Wha. . .what to dhh. . .do."  
  
Faith shakes her head. "No," she mutters, eyes teary. "No no no I-I don't deserve-"  
  
He holds her hands in both of his and tries to smile. "I-it's. . .ghhoing to be. . .okay."  
  
She stares at him a moment longer, then throws her arms around his neck.  
  
"Thank you," she whispers.  
  
The Elsen feels something tug his head, his chest, his limbs. The puppet strings speak quivering impulse, and he obeys.

**Author's Note:**

> and everything nice


End file.
